


A Brief Spark

by SparkBeat



Series: What the Spark Wants [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Wing lives, for a while, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/pseuds/SparkBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wing wakes up on the Lost Light and Rung may or may not be falling for the handsome Knight that pays attention to him and remembers his name. But there aren't always happy endings for every love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Spark

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but it showed up out of the blue. Mostly written out at work waiting to be released :\ 
> 
> I may work on this some more, maybe do a few memory files from Rung's P.O.V. of their brief time together? Not sure. Just felt like writing some sad stuff today.

It had been nothing short of a miracle, what Perceptor and First Aid had managed to do for the broken body recovered from the wreckage of New Crystal City. To bring back a spark that had been guttering and should have extinguished Drift wouldn’t even say how many thousands of stellar cycles ago? Even _Brainstorm_ had given Perceptor praise (albeit grudgingly) for the marvel of science and medicine that they’d managed to pull off.

 

The first time Rung had seen him; the jet had been laid out on a circuit slab, hooked up to monitors of every different kind. Ratchet had been watching him very closely from the moment First Aid had come bursting into his office to explain what had happened in a rush that would have given Blurr a run for his credits. The C.M.O. had commed him to advise a meeting with the newly reawakened Knight.

 

Rung had shown up with datapad in servo, fully prepared for any and every response. Or so he had thought.

 

Instead of a tearful telling of the events that had left him in his situation, or a baleful glare and stony silence, he’d been greeted with a smile that lit up the small ICU room Ratchet had set Wing up in.

 

“I’m afraid to disappoint you, Rung, but I’m not in need of a psychoanalyst. Though I appreciate your willingness to attempt to help me, none-the-less.” That smile had been the turning point, when he thought back on it. At the time, he’d merely given a smile of his own, and indicated his willingness to listen, should the knight change his mind.

 

But he’d gone back, frequently, despite the fact that Wing had never commed him, nor had he asked Ratchet to. At first, he simply figured that his presence would eventually be enough to allow Wing to start talking. And while he did indeed speak with Rung, at length and in great detail, it was never allowed to take that turn into a professional capacity.

 

Drift, who had been stunned into speechlessness at the jet brought back from the dead, spent as much time with him as he could, but that was very little, in all actuality. As the third in command of a ship run by Rodimus (which in reality made him second in command behind Magnus), his personal time was rare. Even when he had official downtime, he usually was called in by the captain to put out one fire or another.

 

The first time Rung walked in on Drift walking out, he caught the tender moment, two friends long since parted being separated again. Then the visits had become less about convincing Wing to accept his professional help, and more about just keeping the jet company between Drift’s infrequent visits.

 

He had been there the first time that Wing was allowed out of the ICU, walking slowly down the many halls of the Lost Light. Wing had seen him as he’d left the little room he’d been confined to, and wasted no time in grabbing his arm. A smile had quieted any protests he’d had about being steered out of the med bay and into the hall.

 

“Show me around?” Wing had asked him, no pressure, no demand in his voice. Just that soft smile and quiet question.

 

So he’d been happy to show the mech around, pointing out the habsuite he’d been assigned, and Drift’s office, the observatory, the training rooms, and Swerve’s. He’d been shocked when Wing asked where his office was, but had lead him by it, pointing it out in passing and fully intending to continue on the tour. Wing had pulled him to a stop with a gentle servo on his shoulder, and Rung let him in to inspect the room.

 

It had been an experience, seeing his office through a new mech’s optics without the defensive guard of someone fearing him judging their every action again. Wing had admired the layout, the open space with the windows he’d set the chairs under. He’d been ridiculously careful with the multitude of models on display, protesting when Rung had pulled out his favorite Ark-1 model and settled it in open grey servos.

 

He’d had fun. It had taken him a while to realize why his spark felt like it was glowing, but there it was. He’d had fun with Wing, with a mech who remembered his name without prompt and had at the very least _feigned_ interest in his hobbies, though Rung wasn’t sure he wasn’t being sincere.

 

Over the next few orbital cycles, they got closer. Rung invited him to come sit with him one day at Swerves while he worked on a model. Wing had watched him work with a focus that had made him blush and stammer, but the jet didn’t judge. He’d asked questions about his work, his experience, even the adhesives he preferred for his models. And if he’d moved closer, and wrapped one arm around the back of Rung’s chair with his fingers brushing his arm, Rung didn’t comment.

 

He had grown fond of the knight quite quickly.

 

So when he’d gotten a com from Wing, asking him to come to the med bay a few orbital cycles later, his spark chamber had dropped down around his pedes.

 

He’d been quick to excuse himself to Skids, who’d been chatting with him, but not in an actual session. As soon as his office door had closed behind him, he’d taken off at a run.

 

Wing was hooked back up to the monitors by the time he’d arrived, systems running hot, fans screaming, fuel tank a riot in his abdominal armor. His optics weren’t the vibrant gold they had been the past few solar cycles, dimming and flickering as if he was holding on to consciousness by threads of will alone.

 

And his smile. He still smiled at Rung when he noticed his entrance. Rung had gotten so used to the myriad of smiles that the mech had in his arsenal. There were happy smiles and sad smiles, ones that displayed varying levels of pride, and ones for shades of disappointment [He didn’t pull out the disappointment smiles often. Mostly they were saved for when Drift did something stupid with/for/on behalf of Rodimus). This wasn’t one he’d seen yet. A mixture of happiness, yes, possibly at his being there (and wasn’t that just like Wing? He’d already learned that the mech could be happy about the littlest things, as if he would have even _thought_ about not coming to Wing’s side when he commed!).

 

But there was also sadness. And pain. None of this made so much as a ripple in the calm of his field, no indication at all of what he was thinking or what was going on inside his frame. The monitors gave him more information than the mech himself did, and Rung understood very little about what the monitors were displaying.

 

“Wing?” He’d stood next to the circuit slab, both servos resting on one large forearm plate.

 

“Please. Let Drift know I’m sorry?”

 

“Sorry for what?” Rung couldn’t stop the tremor in his voice, fingers digging in hard enough to leave little impressions.

 

“I’m grateful for the chance I’ve been given to make amends.” Wing’s voice was thin, pitching a little in the middle of the sentence.

 

“Wing, what are you talking about?”

 

“He forgave me, and I’m so proud of what he’s become. But I wronged him, when we met. I did him a great disservice, even though he’s come through it remarkably. Please tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t wait till he got back.” Drift had gone to the surface of the nearby planet with Rodimus to barter for some supplies. Ratchet would later tell him that they’d been sending emergency hails since Wing had fallen in the observatory, but it would be too late by the time they’d gotten signal enough to read them.

 

“You’re…you’re dying, aren’t you?” He looked at the monitors again, suddenly able to make sense of the crazy lines racing over the screens. His spark was guttering. It hadn’t been stable enough to take the jump-start when he’d been found. They’d only bought him a little time.

 

Time enough to make amends.

 

And time enough to break a spark.

 

“I’m sorry Rung.” There was that sad/happy smile again, and Wing lifted his free servo to tilt Rung’s glasses up enough to swipe at the pooling optical fluid building up underneath. “I had hoped that they had succeeded, but it was apparently not meant to be. Please take care of Drift for me?”

 

Rung nodded, grabbing hold of the raised servo and holding it against his cheek plate. Optical fluid was spilling freely down his cheeks now, and he let out a shaky exvent before fixing Wing with a watery smile of his own.

 

“I’ll make sure Drift pulls through. I wish….I wish you didn’t have to go.” His knees were threatening to give out, his struts felt far to light to hold his weight any longer.

 

“One more thing?” The smile quirked into a little crooked grin, even though his optics continued to flicker.

 

“Anything.” Rung promised, leaning forward as much to support himself as to show his willingness.

 

Wing stroked his cheek with his thumb, the smile fully sad now.

 

“I had hoped to have a lot longer with you.” He laughed depreciatively, never stopping the back and forth motion of his thumb.

 

“I’d hoped to not have to say goodbye, myself.” Rung giggled, vision gone wavy from the overflow of fluids.

 

“Please, you can say no if you feel uncomfortable or I’ve read this wrong, I don’t want you to feel pressured as though it was a dying mechs wish you had to fulfill despite-!” Rung leaned in, pressing their lips together and shutting off his optics to avoid looking at Wing’s shocked face. It only took a moment for Wing to relax and bring the servo that hovered in the air behind Rung’s shoulder down to cup the back of Rung’s helm.

 

Rung let him lead the way, fingers curling around the upper edge of his chest plate. Wing kept the kiss slow and tender, his other servo coming up so he could frame Rung’s face between them.

 

When they finally pulled apart, Wing was _beaming_ , the hurt a faint shadow in his optics now.

 

Rung had sat with him till the end, holding one servo in both of his, telling him stories of his view of Cybertron, before and during the war. They’d shared a few more sweet kisses, each as chaste as the first. When he finally offlined, it was with that blissful smile on his face. The echoing flat line of the monitors brought the medics running, but when he looked to them hopefully, Ratchet just shook his helm.

 

Wing had asked not to be revived. He’d known all along, Rung feared, that he would last long in the living world this time around, and didn’t want to drag the process out any more than he had to. How he’d clung to life as long as he’d had was impressive, and Ratchet figured he’d had good reason, gesturing to the servo Rung was still clinging to.

 

Rung had slid his glasses back on, thanking Ratchet for his help, and stood back as the medics went to work verifying T.O.D. and dismantling the monitors from Wing’s empty frame.

 

It was about then that Drift had come tearing in to the med bay, Rodimus hot on his heels. He’d taken one look at Wing on the slab, and Rung standing with a servo over his mouth and telltale streaks on his cheeks, and he dropped to his knees, pressing his helm to the floor and howling.

 

Ratchet had had Ambulon and First Aid drag Drift out of the ICU room and into a spare, empty one, and ordered a sedative to calm the swordsmech down when his frame started seizing and his fans refused to cycle.

 

Three orbital cycles later had found the two of them standing silently, side by side in a small room Rodimus had allowed Drift to convert into a makeshift temple. Wing lay on a berth pushed up against the back wall under the glow of a few light orbs Drift had said were similar to ones he’d seen in Wing’s rooms back in New Crystal City. Others had come and paid their respects to the mech. Tailgate had been a wreck, and Cyclonus had had to lead him out with an apology to Drift and a nod to Rung.

 

Swerve had sat with them for nearly a full cycle, filling the silence with the few stories he’d had of Wing. Rung figured if he’d known Wing longer, he would have stayed until they had to kick him out for the night, but once the bartender ran out of stories, he got awkwardly quiet and excused himself.

 

Then it was just the two of them, and Drift had collapsed on a bench, leaning his helm on Rung’s shoulder and offlining his optics with a weary sigh. Rung froze, not wanting to disturb the other mech, and fixed his optics on the back wall above Wing.

 

No words were said, but then again, there were no words needed. They both missed the jet. This was a second, surprise blow for Drift, who’d thought he’d said goodbye to Wing once a long time ago and moved on. It was the first for Rung, but cut just as deeply for loosing someone he’d grown very quickly to care about deeply.

 

So when later that night, after he’d shut off the lights and laid himself down on his berth, the knock on his door didn’t really surprise him. Neither did Drift, standing on the other side with his optics downcast, mumbling about how he couldn’t sleep, could he please stay there for the night? Rung just gave him a sad smile and ushered him in, guiding him to the berth and laying down beside him without a fuss. Drift rolled over, laying his helm over the softly glowing glass of his chest and letting loose with the sobs he’d held in for the last three extremely long orbital cycles.

 

And if Rung’s own soft cries joined his in the dark, he didn’t say anything, just held the smaller bot closer.

 

They would both carrying on, but they’d never forget the mech they’d both lost. At least they could find comfort in knowing neither was alone in that.


End file.
